


Rewards

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, Pre Season/Series 02, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, birching (commented), dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written anonymously in reply to this prompt left in <a href="http://borgiaskink.livejournal.com/">The Borgias Kink Meme</a></p>
<p>Cesare/That altar boy/Micheletto<br/>Micheletto does not kill the altar boy who poisoned della Rovere. Cesare fucks the boy and makes Micheletto watch. It might end up a threesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rewards

Micheletto waited by the Atrium, his back against a column. His Eminence had contacted an altar boy to deliver the hit, and Micheletto was there to hand over the _cantarella_. The seasoned henchman was a little worried by this killing by proxy, although this was not the reason that prevented him from keeping his ass still. The stinging on his backside was a constant reminder of the celebratory coupling that His Eminence had planned once the good della Rovere was sent to settle his accounts with God Almighty.  
  
It had been years since he had a birching this good and Micheletto was eager to finish this business.  
  
The soft steps on the floor distracted him from rubbing his burning cheeks against the cool column. The boy in dress, head full of hair, without the proper cold blood to avoid searching for him moving such head from side to side. Micheletto extended his arm and grabbed this amateur and dragged him to the seclude spot between the column and the wall.  
  
“Sing, you little bird,” Micheletto was sure this one was the hand of his master, but he followed orders and need the signal.  
  
“ _Magnificat anima mea Dominum_ ,” stuttered the boy, still shaken by the unexpected contact.  
  
“More or less.”  
  
“I’m feeling restless.”  
  
“It happens to the best. Here,” Micheletto pressed the poison into his hand, “Pour it all into his wine.”  
  
“I’ll wait for him at the apse with the cruet set,” the altar boy said, fidgeting the metal capsule, “I'll have plenty of time to set it.”  
  
“On the wing, then, little bird,” the henchman said with a smile, though he couldn’t even imagine what an apse or a cruet would be. The important thing was the boy had a plan.  
  
That altar boy ran into the church and Micheletto hold his position until the echo of his footsteps died in the nave. Then, rubbing his enkindled bottom with both hands, Micheletto left the building. His skin was starting to itch under the tight trousers. The next few hours were going to be an exquisite torment.   
  
“Did you have a roasted rump, Micheletto?” the question was a glaring goad. Cesare, leaning against the outside wall, was enjoying the rare occurrence of Micheletto with his guard down.  
  
“Early in the morning, His Eminence,” the redhead replied, his hands left his haunches. His expression was unchanged, except for a small smirk of remembrance, “made with forest wood .”  
  
“From the local woods?”  
  
“Not too far from here.”  
  
Cesare broke away from the wall and walked toward his henchman, eyes searching for a sign of reassurance, Micheletto nodded to him so slightly it was barely noticeable. The poison was delivered, the boy was instructed. They both let their gaze linger on the other, their breath bated, lips a bit parted, showing the edge of their teeth. Murder, as coupling, was a sensuous affair that was better if was shared.  
  
“If you want to see him fall, you should take the sacrament, Your Eminence,” Micheletto whispered as he took his way toward the horses.  
  
“Aren't you going to stay for mass?”  
  
“The Good Lord is not going to miss me...”

***

“You must have seen him fall, Micheletto,” Cesare said, entering the inn room next to the church they had rent, they wanted to attend to dear della Rovere's funeral rites, “he fainted like an old spinster at the sight of a mouse!”  
  
“That must have been an amusing display, Your Eminence,” Micheletto answered, trying to keep himself still, but rocking his hips almost against his will.  
  
“Not more than you acting the part of a Turkish dancer,” Cesare Borgia said, taking pleasure in Micheletto's twisting motions. “Are you still sore?”  
  
“Itchy,” Micheletto explained, trying to contain his need to relieve his haunches, “birching does that to one’s skin.”  
  
Cesare was in high spirits, and his face showed it; his hand darted to grab Micheletto around the waist.  
  
“Come, my sweet assassin,” he whispered in his ear, “let's soothe your well-bruised bottom.”  
  
Micheletto let himself being dragged to the bed; most passively, he allowed the Cardinal bend him over his knee and rested his chest on the bed. Cesare, slowly, untied the trousers and pulled them down the redhead's long thighs.  
  
“Open my valise, Micheletto,” Cesare commanded, appraising the quality of the bruised buttocks, barely covered by the shirt. “I have a tin of salve there.”  
  
Micheletto got a hold on the valise, unlatched the straps and rummage through the contents: shirt, ecclesiastical clothes, hosiery... He found a small tin with some greasy marks on his lid. This had to be and he presented it in his open hand with an almost gallant movement.  
  
"I really trashed your black and blue this time, Micheletto," Cesare commented, the skin was not really blue but of a charming purplish tone with some scarlet spots.  
  
"It was my pleasure," Micheletto answered trying to steel himself against the cure, which was usually worse than the wounds.  
  
“I’m still amazed by your endurance.”  
  
Cesare was busy rubbing the ointment in his hands so the quick movements of Micheletto caught him unaware. His assassin rolled over his knee, pulling up his trousers in the process, and then he made his way to the door without making a sound with his soft leather boots. Once there, with one hand lacing his codpiece and the other signaling for silence, Micheletto applied his ear to the wall.  
  
It was a marvel to see Micheletto at work, maybe he and della Rovere were the only men in this world who ever saw him at it and lived to tell the tale. His collected countenance, his measured movements, his shallow breath; he was waiting for something and that something materialized in the minimal displacement of the door; then Micheletto opened the door wide and pulled the dagger, but when he saw the intruder his eyes went to the Cardinal with a quizzed expression.

“It’s all right, Micheletto,” Cesare said, the boy was getting in his hands and knees. “Our little friend here has news for us.”  
  
“I poured the dust in the cruet,” the boy said and approached Cesare.  
  
“I suppose you want your reward...”  
  
Instead of answered, and to Micheletto’s surprise, the boy started to shed his clothes with an eagerness that was almost shameful.  
  
“Stay by the door, Micheletto,” Cesare commanded as he started to take his clothes off, “watch that no one interrupts us”.  
  
Micheletto's face showed no expression, but his shoulders slumped a bit. Cesare stopped him when he tried to trespass the doorway.  
  
“From the inside, if you are so kind.”  
  
Cesare waited until Micheletto closed the door and laid his weight against it, before calling that randy altar boy to his bed. This shady business had needed a little more than money to be implemented, that boy wanted to be ravished by the Cardinal and being took to Rome. The second part was not a trouble, the first part was the real penance, but in order to remove the thorn from his father's side, he was ready to make some sacrifices.  
  
Micheletto tried to be blind and deaf to the spectacle before his eyes, but the Cardinal didn't make that an easy task. The boy —although that full grown bush denounced a man and not a boy— was not something that would attract his attention; his body type had lost its charm as soon as Micheletto grew a beard. The Cardinal, in the other hand, was an agreeable view any day of the week. Micheletto hid his smile at the sight of that male torso besieged by juvenile kisses and those solid thighs, taut for his kneeled position on the bed. A sight to treasure for lonely nights, indeed.  
  
As that altar server went down on him Cesare shoot a glance towards Micheletto, his assassin was still, that itching in his bottom forgotten by now. The cardinal never expected to get satisfaction by the ostentation of his carnal prowess but the silent propinquity of his manservant was a spur on his lecherous desires, even more than the innocence that begged to be taken between shallow sighs of anticipation. He smirked once he found the will to went through the hardship and his hand messed the light hair of this occasional partner, encouraging him to stuff his mouth with more vigor.  
  
"Micheletto," Cesare called out; his assassin focused his attention on him right away, "Come here and help me to grease this piglet for the spit."  
  
Reluctantly, Micheletto tore himself away from the door and took some steps toward the bed; Cesare, almost off-handed, threw him the tin of salve and saw him catch it with both hands. The boy gave him a glance, but returned to his task with renovated vigor, and the Cardinal took this as a sign of his interest in being touched by his ginger henchman; Micheletto's zeal was least evident, he lean on the bed and watched the quivering ass in front of his eyes with the detached attitude of a professional. Cesare was about to dish him a taunt about seeing prostitutes being less eager when the muffled moan in his dick distracted him from his own grouse, the sensation traveled through his nether parts like nothing he had felt before.  
  
“So, Micheletto...” Cesare said when the new sensation lost its edge, “How do you find it?”

"I fear, Your Eminence, that this hole had had the visit of many tapers before." Micheletto's voice sounded bored, his hand was rubbing the ointment mechanically. "This chasm could fit your girth without any trouble."  
  
Cesare had no reason to doubt of Micheletto's judgment so, in search of an explanation; he forced the boy to raise his head.  
  
“Are you bilking me?” He asked with a slight frown. “Am I not the first?”  
  
“I never did this before,” the lad tried to explain, but Micheletto's fingers in his rear hamper his reasoning, “but, since your letter... I used... objects... I couldn't wait...”  
  
“Then, you will wait no more,” Cesare put his hands together, asking for the tin in silence. “Turn around.”  
  
A rustling of fabrics marked the start of the hardest part of the ritual. Cesare, naked with his hands on the boy haunches, sported the same expression he had during consecration; the altar server —after seeing his junk, Micheletto couldn't see him like a boy— had his two hands together like a penitent in the paroxysm of his regret, this had the appearance of his real first time. Noticing this, Micheletto tried to make them space to enjoy their rutting, but the Cardinal's voice commanded him to stay put.  
  
From his privileged position, the assassin could notice the grimace and how his eyelids flew open at the sensation of a hard dick ramming his rear end; he knew from experience that His Eminence was too used to women to measure his pace while he tread by the narrow road, but that it was not a cause of complain in his case. Micheletto was rather aghast when his cod became tight as he bore witness of this virginal ache.  
  
"Micheletto, I need you here," Cesare called aloud once he finished feeding his hard cock inside that up turned ass.  
  
Micheletto went to his side, as was customary, though he never had done it while the fornication act was being carried out. The youngster moaned and whimpered but, when breath was enough, he encouraged the Cardinal to take him and gave him a little more. And it seemed like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!  
  
"Shirt off," the cardinal whispered, "I need your help."  
  
The dilemma was if he wanted his direct help with the hussy skewed in his dick, but Micheletto obeyed, waiting for the best. Cesare gave him reassurance almost immediately by taking him with his right hand and by letting his hand roam inside his trousers, kneading his bruised bottom. That was a nice allure and the assassin complied, rubbing his master’s  torso and tweaking his nipples, it seemed like His Eminence couldn't maintain his interest without some help, Micheletto was happy of being of assistance.  
  
The young man, feeling a little neglected, grinded his hips against the Cardinal, in silent demand of movement. Cesare corresponded as his pushes, his hand enjoying the coarse texture of Micheletto's ass, searching to hurry up his pleasure.

The ruse was successful, because in short time he was spewing his seed inside that young meat, with Micheletto supporting his sated body. They rest on the bed, among Cesare’s travel valise, the young man was blushed, sweaty and eager to continue but the Cardinal's desire was low, and his hand between his henchman's hard buttocks was a constant remainder of the fine dish at hand. He had no stomach for baby food anymore.  
  
"Off with your trousers, Micheletto," Cesare whispered in his assassin's ear, with a mellifluous purr.  
  
With lazy movements Micheletto put his weapons out of the way, kicked his boots and shed the trousers. With careless dedication, Cesare waited until he was nude to hug him from behind, to drag him to the bed and to start to caress Micheletto with hands full of salve, one of them was massaging his back door, and the other his strained member. The young altar hand was agog at this impudent spectacle.  
  
“Micheletto, do you want your ass pounded?” He asked, hugging the red head against his naked body.  
  
“Yes, Your Eminence,” Micheletto answered, enjoying his attentions, “if that is your pleasure.”  
  
“Then, my young friend,” Cesare said, lifting Micheletto’s leg to grant the boy access, “Pound my Micheletto’s ass.”   
  
The boy practically jump to their tangled forms, he didn't expect to have the opportunity to taste the most vigorous part of this unholy joining. Micheletto tried to rise from the bed, but Cesare had a good grip on him and pinned his body to the mattress, using his mouth to silence his protests. The assassin tried to struggle but the two of them managed to get him speared in that child's toy; his eyes were glued to Cesare's face.  
  
“This is my pleasure,” the Cardinal said, his hand never stopped rubbing Micheletto’s cock.  
  
“Then, so be it,” Micheletto said between his clenched teeth, it was obvious he was seething inside, "but, may I point something to Your Eminence?"  
  
Cesare didn't answered, he just nod and kissed Micheletto's shoulder; the altar boy was having his way with Micheletto, in a rather disorganized manner, kissing, stroking and pushing his young meat into this ripe male body.  
  
“The bells aren't tolling for the dead...”

***

  
  
Cesare was helping the boy with his surplice, under the pretext of sending the boy to make sure where della Rovere was been taken care of Cesare tried to got rid from his presence.. That boy still was pouring his excitation over the new horizons of his carnal knowledge and, truth be told, Cardinal Borgia found that rather tiresome.   
  
“When would we do this again?”  
  
“In Rome,” Cesare told, his patience has been proved to be strong, “as your payment.”  
  
It was good to see him go away. Cesare returned to the side of the bed, where Micheletto was sat, clothed and almost motionless; his hands balled inside his thighs, his eyes cast down.

“We need to send a message to della Rovere,” Cesare said, putting all his clothes inside the valise now his cassock was ready, next to the _manteletta_. Micheletto didn't move. “He needs to know this failure will never deter us until we get his hide.”  
  
Micheletto didn't answer, that was strange. Cesare had no time to wonder about his mood, his mind was getting ready for the upcoming meeting with his nemesis. His hands were working mindlessly, putting his clothes on his back.  
  
“What do you say, Micheletto?” Cesare insisted, adjusting the sleeves of his dark cassock trimmed in cardinalatial scarlet.   
  
“I say, Your Eminence,” Micheletto replied, his hands holding the hose between his fists, “that I don't care.”  
  
The voice of his henchman was low, almost affectionate, and that made Borgia's nape hair stood on end almost immediately. “Why, Micheletto?”  
  
His answer came in the form of a scarlet silk hose in front of his face. Cesare could hardly have time to grab the garment before a mighty tug almost shook him almost off his feet. Micheletto breathed heavily next to his ear, his body weight shifting almost as he was getting ready to intensify his efforts.  
  
“Because Your Eminence whored me up to a young” Micheletto tugged the hoise, trying to bypass that hand that was thwarting his efforts, “failed” he almost spat the word, he was unable to know which of the insults against his pride was worst, “amateur!”  
  
Cesare groped his man servant's hip until his hand found the pommel of a dagger. Never a rounded object felt better in his hand; Micheletto was like a madman and Cesare was not sure he would hear reasons. The assassin’s weight was drawing him down and the Cardinal knew he had little precious time to save his neck.   
  
Micheletto stumbled backwards when the tissue was ripped with a loud, tearing sound and his quick hand reached the spare dagger in his boot. A quick flash of slashes, some dodging movements and soon they both were in a corner, face to face, nostrils flaring, points of daggers in the neck, breathing with murderous fury and a hint of carnal frustration.  
  
“I didn't whore you up, Micheletto,” Cesare said, the end of his dagger caressing the coarse dewlap of his favorite assassin. “I made use of the boy to see your face while you get your insides pounded.”  
  
Micheletto held his gaze and his knife, but his throat gulped almost audibly.  
  
“I never get a good sight of this face when I manage this kind of affairs.”  
  
Cesare closed the space between them, the dagger slide over his skin without making any harm, but he didn’t allow himself to be lulled into a false sensation of safety: this redheaded boor could fillet him with a flick of his wrist. Besides, Micheletto was right, he abused his rights when he obliged him to partake with the boy.

“The fault is yours, Your Eminence,” Micheletto whispered, pressing the knife a little, “In Rome, as you well know, they sell mirrors.”   
  
“Good idea, Micheletto,” Cesare said the complete certainty that they had reached an agreement, “I see that done when we return home.”  
  
Cesare tried to step back, Micheletto seemed to accept his reasons but Micheletto’s quick hand in his nape  
  
“We are not done, Your Eminence,” Micheletto’s blade was too close for comfort. “You whored me.”  
  
“ _Qui tacet consentit_.”  
  
“Let’s not mince pretty words, pray.”  
  
“You didn’t complain, then, you accepted it.”  
  
Micheletto averted his eyes, his lips made a crude attempt of a smile, his knife went down. Cesare heaved a sigh, feeling how the tension washed from him. That was the moment when Micheletto made his mercurial move.  
  
An inverecund kiss explored his buccal pouch without tenderness, cruel teeth that nibbled his lips, rough hands kneading his buttocks, messing his hair. Cesare surrendered to this rugged caress, just at the moment in which Micheletto considered that he had had enough and let him go.  
  
“What right do you have to treat me like this?” Cardinal Borgia protested, still trying to make sense of the whole scene. The back of his hand was used to wipe his mouth.  
  
“I hear no complain,” the acerbic comment was made while he tried to tie his jerkin, he didn’t even give his master the consideration of a look.  
  
“Did the boy hurt you, Micheletto?” Cesare asked, tying up his cloak, “Otherwise, I cannot understand why are you in such a foul mood.”  
  
“I barely felt him.”  
  
Finally a thing Cesare could handle. The Cardinal found not a prayer grateful enough to thank the heavens for this insight on the motive behind his favorite assassin’s ill-breeded behavior. He slapped his henchman in the back before shaking his leather-cladded shoulder.  
  
“I must make a visit,” Cesare explained, “but I promise you will feel something this night.”  
  
“With the boy?”   
  
The face of this man made a pretty contained sneer, but Cesare was used to him and the abhorrence was evident. That altar boy had outlived his usefulness. The best option was to tie up that loose end.  
  
“The altar boy will stay here, Micheletto.”  
  
Micheletto casted a sideway glance to his master, trying to read into those dark, Spanish eyes, then, as the message was completely understood, he kissed the cardinal ring in that hand over his shoulder with unholy devotion. Trust and commitment was restored to that simple, mild gesture; Cesare could swear it.  
  
“That fool doesn’t deserve a snapped neck,” that quiet voice punctuated the disdain in those blue eyes.   
  
Cesare swore that behind that calm voice was a hint of relief, especially since Micheletto seemed so unruffled while he took his sword and his cloak with smooth, measured paces, before heading towards the door.  
  
“He’s yours, Micheletto,” Cesare agreed, full of congeniality, a little confounded by the mention of a specific method. “Do with him as you please.”  
  
“That shall be done, Your Eminence,” Micheletto assured him, holding the door open for him to pass.


End file.
